


Otter Nonsense

by rthstewart



Series: Golden Age Stories [8]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banker Morgan, Everybody Lives, F/M, Golden Age (Narnia), Humor, Jalur, Nobody Leaves, Otters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart
Summary: Honours are bestowed on two very unworthy recipients.





	Otter Nonsense

  


I recently rediscovered my 2013 story, _Lost in Translation,_ posted on fanfiction.net and never posted here. Some of that story was cannibalized in _Rejection of the Terms_ as part of the Everybody Stays Nobody Leaves Narnia AU. After Peter dotes upon a pregnant Morgan in Chapter 2 of _Lost in Translation_ , there were reader requests for more Otter. There were also reader questions about Gnash and Bitel, the very colorful and heroic Otters in _Herd Mentality_. Those requests and questions for more Otter are answered here. Because there are Otters, this means some foul language follows, though Bitel and Gnash are (deliberately) not as reprehensibly foul as in other stories.

* * *

Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass! But, masters, remember that I am an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an officer, and, which is more, a householder, and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns and every thing handsome about him. Bring him away. O that I had been writ down an ass!

Shakespeare, _Much Ado About Nothing (Dogberry), Act IV, Scene 2._

* * *

Being so sleep-deprived, Edmund did not put the pieces together right away. He was not complaining, mind. He was most definitely not complaining! But as Morgan was up every few hours to nurse Edmund Linch ( _Son! My child! Prince! Ours! Ours! See what we did?! Isn't he wonderful?! Isn't Morgan amazing!_ ), Edmund would naturally rouse as well to render moral support.

Never mind that he was the person least equipped in the family to manage on short sleep rations. That would not affect him. Surely not.

The gifts began as a trickle. Messengers arrived first on horseback bearing messages and small, valuable things hurriedly stuffed in saddlebags and wrapped in the colours and markings of the great Banking Houses of the Lone Islands. Whilst before Edmund Linch's birth, the gifts had come for the baby-to-be, these that came after were for Morgan. Bankers sent her writing quills, fine parchment, beautifully bound ledgers, and ownership shares in business ventures and guilds. There was some frippery as well, silk scarves, soft, woolen wraps, gilded pins, combs, and jewelry. Every gift had the elusive quality of superb, subdued taste that was acquired only with great cost.

The ship arrived at the end of the month when his son's erratic, nocturnal schedule had reduced Edmund to stumbling about and running into walls.

The Lone Island Bankers had commissioned _an entire ship_ and filled it with precious things for Morgan.

"Oh yes," Morgan said, commenting nonchalantly upon the ship's manifest. She handed him a soiled nappy to dispose of and kept the manifest for herself. "It's customary for the Houses to give gifts to a Banker who has given birth, both as a congratulations and to replace the lost income her temporary absence causes. It's a form of communal paid maternal leave."

Edmund began an inventory of the items gifted to his mate, fell asleep over the accounting of shares in the Seven Isles guilds, and awoke a day later having drooled on the thank-you notes he'd penned.

"Jalur!" Edmund ranted at his Guard. "Why didn't you wake me?"

The Tiger yawned, stretched, and his claws snagged on the Tower Library rugs. "You were so irritable, Banker Morgan bribed me with a trip to the Glasswater to see the Otters if I let you sleep a full night."

_Betrayed by Guard and wife._

Going first to the nursery, he was impeded by the joint Guard stationed there – a Tiger and a Hound – for neither would cede to the other the privilege of guarding Prince Edmund Linch.

"The Cub is sleeping within having been awake most the night," Nethra, the Tigress, whispered.

"The High King was singing to him," Hamza added. The Hound cocked his head to the side. "They _both_ rest now."

Edmund cracked the door; it noiselessly opened on well-oiled hinges. Peeking in, he saw Peter had nodded off in a rocking chair and the baby was lying on his cot. He quietly eased the door shut. Peter had Red, the checkered, stuffed rabbit in his lap, a sort of private joke between his brother and Morgan, and gifted by little Liv until her cousin was big enough to play. Susan was still sorting through the petitions from other Narnians requesting that they also be permitted to provide a representative, suitably stuffed, for the Royal Nursery.

Morgan was in her office, behind her desk, looking a little weary, and very contented. She accepted the short kiss and the longer embrace and then waved him to a chair. "I don't have much time before the Cub wakes up so please don't distract me."

"You tried to get rid of me!" Edmund accused taking a seat next to her.

"Tried and succeeded. You are looking much better for a full night's rest."

"But I should have been with you."

"Yes, but it will be more helpful to overall management if one of us is able to think clearly." She yawned. "This irregularity must come from your side of the family."

"Or perhaps the coffee that runs in the veins of your family has manifested in infancy?"

"I hope not."

The piles on the desk moved rapidly from one side to the other under her busy hands.

"Morgan, you really do not have to be working now. Just as Peter is with Edmund Linch now, one of us could go through your desk and the paperwork."

"It's _my_ precious hour and so I may do as I like," Morgan replied. She gestured to the stack of ownership certificates received from the Bankers. "And I like opening my presents. Speaking of…" She looked up at him, expectantly.

Edmund eyed the pile of new and considerable wealth gifted to his mate and came to a sinking realization that this was part of the Lone Islands birthing cultural practice he had not been aware of and so had neglected. Fortunately (and yes it was undoubtedly a decent night's sleep that allowed him to do so), he could make a quick recovery.

"I have given deep thought to your maternity gift. In anticipating what the Bankers would give you, I became concerned that a fitting and commensurate gift would bankrupt the Narnia treasury. Anything from our royal storehouse was right out as you had inventoried it three years ago and would have laid claim then to anything had you wanted it."

She laughed. "Well played, Harold."

He bowed his head acknowledging the compliment to his ready wit. He wouldn't reveal that said wit was present only because she had manipulated him into sleeping for a whole night, though come to think, that might be why Morgan had prevailed upon Jalur to let him sleep. This was all a part of Morgan's convoluted and cunning plan to get her desired gift. Perhaps he should be concerned that his mate had resorted to such stratagems to achieve her desired end? From her first visit to Narnia when she finessed the language of the contract covering her stay and manipulated the Otters with oranges, Morgan could be _very_ devious.

"And so what, Morgan, dearest, would you like in recognition of your hard work to bring our son into the world? For nothing is its equal but how might I show you profound appreciation all the same? Would you like an hour a day to call your own? An IOU on performance from Volume 3, illustrations 4, 12 and 21? Sequentially?"

His imagination was thrilled at the prospect of performance of illustrations 4, 12 and most especially 21. His intellect thought it an impressive offer but doubted his ability to make good on the promise – a judgment Morgan concurred in for she snorted and shook her head in disbelief.

"Failing that," he continued gamely, "Controlling interest in a shipping line? We could just order out our fleet and Lucy could turn privateer and commandeer one for you. "

"Tempting, but no, as the reparations would likely negate any benefit." She set down her quill with a gleam painful experience had taught did not bode well. "As it happens, I know precisely what I wish."

She told him.

Edmund stared. "You cannot be serious."

"Of course, I am. Besides, I promised Jalur we could go to the Glasswater so he could threaten the Otters."

_Betrayed by wife and Guard. Again._

"You bribed my Guard!" Edmund protested.

"You asked what I wanted, and that's what I want. Jalur agreed."

"Jalur's opinion doesn't matter in this! He would agree to anything for the prospect of threatening Otters!"

"It's what I want," she countered, sounding far more firm than defensive.

"But, you need a Monarch of Narnia to do this!"

"And you are?"

Edmund closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again, ran fingers through his hair, and tapped nervously on the desk. Morgan continued to sort through the new ownership interests she had received, unconcerned.

"Wouldn't you prefer something a trifle less extreme?" Edmund finally pressed. He felt no guilt in trying to get her to reconsider. This was extraordinary and the only thing less likely than him doing it was convincing Peter to do so. Lucy would be more likely to lead a pirate raid against that merchant vessel.

"Might I convince you of something more easily managed and more easily obtained? The entire contents of the Calormene treasury? A Winged Horse?"

"Or a polite Otter?" Morgan answered.

ooOOoo

"… so declares High King Peter, Wolf's-Bane, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, this day…"

"I don't think they're listening," Morgan said.

"No," Edmund agreed wearily. He rolled up the scroll, turned in his saddle and tucked the proclamation back into his bag. "It was a waste of ink and parchment even drafting it up."

Jalur roared and shook off Bitel the Otter who had been clinging to his back and gnawing on his ears. No sooner did Bitel roll away than the other Otter, Gnash, launched himself at Jalur. Tiger and Otter threw themselves down the creek embankment and into the Glasswater. They landed with an enormous splash.

Morgan urged her placid mare forward; the horse paused her chewing and took a reluctant step to draw even with his mount. "Why don't I try? Would you take the Cub?"

This led to a complex but well-rehearsed transfer from mother to father of Edmund Linch, his swaddle, and the sling that held him. Morgan slid out of her saddle and landed heavily on the ground. She removed two oranges from her own saddlebag and strode to the creek's edge where Jalur, Bitel and Gnash were all wrestling in the water and flinging bits of muck and bracken. The Otters were swearing and cackling with malicious glee at the return of their enemy and sparring partner. Jalur was spitting and growling. They were all enjoying themselves immensely. Jalur picked up Bitel in his jaws and tossed the Otter downstream.

"Oi! You filthy dickwad!" Gnash screeched and launched himself at Jalur's hindquarters. The two rolled over and over in the shallows.

"Bitel! Gnash!" Morgan shouted. "If you want any oranges, attend on me _now_!"

She had to shout it three more times; Edmund wasn't worried that she would wake the sleeping Cub. As it turned out, their son was wholly nocturnal with the daytime sleep habits of a hibernating bear. So long as the Sun was in the sky, explosions, trumpets, howling Wolves and yowling Cats would not disturb Edmund Linch.

"Oi! Bugger me blind, it's the Orange Lady!" Bitel spat out Jalur's tail and bounded back up the embankment. Gnash followed.

Jalur scrambled out of the Glasswater and shook himself, spraying water and fur everywhere. The odor of wet Feline and Otter musk assailed Edmund's senses. Even the Cub made a little mew in his arms. Edmund hoped the baby might wake now, during the daytime, thereby perhaps yielding sleep at night. It was not to be so. With a sigh, the Cub snuggled deeper into the sling hung around Edmund's front and nodded off again, as soundly as before.

Morgan crouched down and the Otters stood on their hind legs.

"Give us the oranges!" Gnash demanded, grasping for the fruit Morgan held, but too closely for them to steal.

"Not so fast," Bitel snapped. "We're not due for a payment. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Morgan said. "I have important news for you."

"Sod off. We do more work, we get more oranges," Gnash said.

"Not work. An Honour, a great Honour, even," Morgan said, moving the oranges between her hands and taunting her rapt audience.

"So who'd give _us_ an Honour?" Bitel snapped. "We know we're exiled down here with the bleeding snakes and those bleeding Horses."

"The Crown of Narnia wishes to honour you most especially because of that very work you have done here so very well," Morgan said.

In truth, that was a lie. (Edmund could have clarified the position of the Crown of Narnia as he was certainly authorised to speak on behalf of said Crown. Edmund the Just! Justice! _The quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness; to uphold the justice of a cause, the administering of deserved punishment or reward; and the maintenance or administration of what is just by law, as by judicial, legislative, or other proceedings; also, a court of justice_. All this time and he still loved his title, even more than _Magnificent, Valiant, Gentle_ , or even _Banker_.)

The Crown did _appreciate_ the Otters. It was simply that such Honours were reserved for those who were honourable, rather than vile, vulgar and foul-mouthed. This was _all_ Morgan's doing alone.

Every misgiving Edmund had was borne out when Morgan solemnly delivered the news to the Otters of the Honour to be bestowed upon them. Bitel and Gnash threw themselves on the grass and laughed uproariously.

With a snarl, Jalur drew back a massive paw (velveted) and swatted the hysterical Otters back into the creek.

ooOOoo

Predictably, Peter had refused. Susan avoided the issue entirely by saying that as she had never been knighted, she could not possibly be the one to bestow the Honour. Lucy begged off, explaining that the temptation to slice off the head of the Otter a Monarch was knighting into her Order was simply too overwhelming. It had given Edmund enormous admiration for Jalur's ability to mouth, toss, bat, and bowl Otters and not actually bite down on them. Like Lucy, Edmund was not confident in his own self-restraint if he had Cianclist in his hands and a bowed Otter head before him.

The solution was, therefore, legalistic. When in doubt, _delegate_ and this was all Morgan's doing anyway. As a rule, they did not enact private bills for the benefit of a single individual but, well, if ever there was need for an exception, this was it. Narnia Special Laws 20-5 established the Most Noble Order Of The Orange Tree, Favours and Honours to be dispensed by a consort to the royal house of Narnia for services of exceptional acumen and wit rendered to the Crown or her subjects. Morgan drafted most of the law herself and agonized over every word even while acknowledging that she would be the one administering it for decades still to come.

Then, they had to fashion something for Morgan to do the knighting with because what Edmund might do, accidentally on purpose, in slicing off the head of the Otter kneeling before him, Morgan could easily accomplish just by accident.

"I do like my sword thing," Morgan said, swinging the new symbol of her authority about.

It was _not_ a sword. Morgan and objects sharper than a quill were not to be mixed. She still referred to his broadsword, Cianclist, as the "big sword thing" and Eirene's claymore as "biggest sword thing." Edmund wasn't envious of his mate's admiration of a Centauress' strength with a sword. _No, not in the least._ _Truly. Even if he couldn't even raise Eirene's claymore over his head. Not that he'd tried. More than a few times. Well, maybe ten. Or twelve. But who was counting?_

As sharp objects were right out for Morgan, the Dwarfs in the Smithy fashioned a rod of silver and green jade set with bright orange fire opals. It was a fitting "sword" for the Order of the Orange Tree and the Banker who would wield it. Morgan was thrilled. She'd knocked over three flower vases, brought down two tapestries, and dented a stone wall and a suit of armor with her enthusiastic swinging of her new Orange Tree scepter.

This Midsummer, the only Honours to be awarded were to Bitel and Gnash. Susan and Peter, gritting their teeth, had decided that no one else's Honours should be sullied by Otter theatrics. Or swearing. Or ruckus and general Tash's hell-raising.

It would be a miracle if they all survived this with no murder done.

They did try to make it an appropriately solemn occasion. The Monarchs and their consorts were all dressed in their finery, the bright silks and satins in red, gold, and green. Morgan donned the diadem of gold and green fashioned for her. Aidan kept putting on and taking off the circlet he had borrowed from the storehouse and finally gave up and stuffed it in a pocket.

The crowd who had gathered for the Knighting ceremony was far larger than Edmund had anticipated. Perhaps the Narnians were hoping to see blood spilt in the Great Hall when someone's self-control gave way at the prospect of knighting an Otter.

There were trumpets and fanfare and they all processed in to beating drums and cheers. The windows were thrown open and curious Birds perched on every ledge. Especially in the summer warmth, there was a strong, pervasive odor of sweat, grass, and that special, very Narnian scent of hairy mammal.

They arranged themselves upon their thrones on the dais. Peter took the High King's throne, Rhindon across his knees; Lucy bore her gifts. It wasn't as if Morgan noticed that he had polished Cianclist brightly for the day, but Edmund brought his own sword nonetheless. Susan volunteered to carry the Cub in his sling; her Horn was slung on her other hip. Since Edmund Linch had kept them up all night, he was likely to sleep right through the knighting ceremony until dusk.

Morgan and Aidan, as royal consorts, sat below the royal dais. Aidan had to continually duck and swerve to avoid Morgan swinging her scepter and getting "crowned" himself.

It was warm, it was crowded, it was an olfactory banquet _,_ it was noisy, and the Otters were late to their own knighting.

Edmund secretly hoped that the Cub would suddenly throw a screaming tantrum that would necessitate his Da's intervention and require that they both leave the scene. He glanced at Susan sitting next to him and thought she was rocking the baby a little more vigorously than might otherwise be warranted. His sister obviously had the same cunning plan of manufacturing a baby-related escape.

The minutes ticked by and finally Peter frowned and asked loudly and pointedly, "Has anyone seen our Honourees?"

With a sigh, Lucy rose slowly from her throne and, with Aidan’s assistance, stepped off the dais to where the Horses were standing. His sister’s late pregnancy made every step more like a Duck’s waddle – an observation Edmund had never shared with wife or sister as he valued continued existence. As the Otters were being honoured in part for their services on behalf of Gwen and Rose, the two Mares, and Bree, were standing close to the dais.

"Would you all see if you can locate Bitel and Gnash and bring them here?" Lucy asked the Horses.

"Excellent idea, Lucy!" Morgan cried, nearly coshing Aidan, again, with the scepter. "Try the bathing pond!"

The Horses bowed and pushed their way toward the front doors and left the Great Hall.

They waited. The crowd grew noisier and the heat rose in the room. Edmund could see that Peter was moving from bored to truly irritated. Susan was bouncing Edmund Linch on her lap hard enough that if she kept it up, Edmund thought his son would burp up all over his sister's fine silks.

_By the Lion_ , that would be another way to escape this ordeal! Surely emergency-Cub-spit-up would require _both_ of them to leave. He would have to take the Cub whilst Susan cleaned her gown. Though, this was likely another ruse of Susan's for she surely had a sop cloth cleverly hidden somewhere and would be able to excuse herself with the excuse but no actual damage done.

Before Edmund could implement this plan of action, the doors swung open again. The crowd noise rose and drowned out the clopping of Horse hooves on marble. The Horses' return to the Great Hall was the stuff of great theater. Bree walked ahead, stately, gently nudging curious onlookers to the side and clearing a path to the dais. Behind him, Bitel was riding on Rose and Gnash was aboard Gwen. The Otters were chirping, waving, gnawing on snails, and spitting the shells out into the crowd, as if they were triumphant warriors returning from battle and throwing flowers to their admirers. They were green with slime and black with mud. The scent of warm mammal now warred with and regrettably lost to the stench of wet, musky Otter and pond scum.

"Oi! Why didn't someone come find us?" Bitel demanded and jumped off Rose.

"Because you should have been here already," Rose replied. Snail shells cracked under her stomping hoof.

Gnash sucked up the last bit of gooey snail and spit the shell out. "Hey! What da hell?" Gwen ducked her shoulder, shook, and the Otter slid off her back and tumbled to the floor.

The Horses shoved the Otters forward. "Pay attention and be polite!" Gwen scolded.

Edmund didn't hear precisely what Rose said, but it was profane enough to make the Otters both laugh. He knew the Mare had a tongue as salty as any soldier or sailor.

Morgan rose from her seat and brandished her scepter which gave so lethal an impression, she forced the Otters to flatten on the steps before her.

"What in bleeding..."

"Thank you all for coming!" Morgan called out to the assembly.

_Swing._

She really did love her scepter. If she killed kill an Otter by accident Edmund would happily grant Royal Clemency.

"We all come here this day to induct into the new Order of the Orange Tree the Otters Bitel and Gnash."

_Swing._

There was a thunk as the scepter connected with marble step. The Otters winced, cowered, and swore.

"The Order of the Orange Tree is awarded by a Consort of a Monarch to any Narnian who has demonstrated exceptional wit, cunning, and cleverness."

_Swing._

Morgan had been rehearsing this speech for days. When she spoke from memory and to a mostly non-Human audience, she did very well. Having faced down hostile Bankers, rulers, and financial advisors in all the Known Realms, Otters did not intimidate her in the least. Morgan just talked right over Bitel and Gnash's swearing protests as she continued to brandish her scepter about, as fierce as any Ettin with a cudgel, but with far less accuracy.

"By the efforts of Bitel and Gnash, Narnia is kept secure. When venomous snakes threatened Narnia, Bitel captained the effort to find and kill..."

"What a cock up! She's no captain!" Gnash said with a cackle. "Bitel's just a first rate arse."

Bitel hissed. "Am too, so shut your piehole, you..."

The Otters had to swallow their own venom as Morgan's scepter whistled over their heads and she continued on as if there had been no interruption at all.

"...to find and kill the snakes and keep the Glasswater safe. Bitel also exhibited exceptional wisdom, perspicacity, and quick wit in rendering aid to Rose the Mare after she was set upon by her Herd..."

"Hey!" Gnash shrieked. "I helped, too, with rescuing Rose from those buggering dickwad Stallions!"

Bitel leaned over and bit him. "I'm still the one doing the captaining, just like the Orange Lady said!"

"The hell you are!"

"As for the services of Gnash," Morgan shouted over the bickering, "this noble Otter..."

"Noble!? _Bollocks_!" Bitel cried.

"Shut it!" Gnash snapped.

_Swing._

"Buggering hell, she'll kill us with that thing!"

"... also rendered wise advice and comfort to Rose the Mare and was instrumental in promptly notifying the Crown of the crimes done to Rose by the Glasswater herds."

Morgan raised the scepter up over her head and Edmund harbored a wild hope that was dashed when she brought it down again to knight Gnash by tapping her scepter on the Otter's head and shoulder.

"For your service, Narnia thanks you, Sir..."

"Piss off," Gnash snapped.

Murmurs of disgust and disapproval rose from the crowd. The perching Birds squawked from their windows. Even the Crows were protesting. Edmund was particularly annoyed on his mate's behalf that the Otter was being so disrespectful to his benefactor and sponsor.

"Otter!" Peter warned from his throne. "You test Our..."

"Piss off!" Gnash repeated.

"Oh, but of course!" Morgan exclaimed. She waved the scepter again. "You may rise, Sir Piss Off."

Gnash jumped up, climbed a step, and reached up to rub noses with Morgan. "Thanks, Orange Lady!"

He scampered down the step and gave Bitel a shove. "Your turn, arsehat."

Bitel knelt on the step below where Morgan stood. The Otter was trying to comb her fur, as if maybe, finally, realizing that this was a solemn occasion where one typically picked the snail shells out of one's fur _before_ arriving at Cair Paravel.

"By the authority vested in me, I welcome you into the Order of the Orange Tree." Morgan tapped her scepter on Bitel's shoulders and head. "You may rise, Dame..."

"Arsehat," Bitel interrupted. "I'm Damned Arsehat and don't any of you blighters forget it!"

Truer words had never been spoken in Cair Paravel.

.


End file.
